Ladies' Man
by greenfairy13
Summary: AU! Doctor John Noble is anything but a ladies' man. His first night out after his divorce ends in disaster when he meets River Song who quickly starts stalking him and even pretends to be his wife. Shortly after, he makes the acquaintance of the stripper Rose Tyler and falls in love. Do the dignified surgeon and the stripper have a future? Will River drive them apart?
1. Stop Callin'

**Author's notes:**

_Ladies and Gentlemen, Multi Sex and Undecided!_

_The most awesome, unbelievable, entirely lovely, most gifted writer and -I have not enough words to praise her- leftylain agreed to beta this for me. (I totally fainted when she agreed to help me)._  
><em>However: I'm proud owner of each and every mistake and I hope I'll be able to update at least every other week.<em>

_Okay, I know showing River Song as a stalker is a risk and this really isn't a fic for Doctor/River fans. But this fic is a complete AU and if you know my other stories, you know that I always portray her with respect. In this story, I'll exaggerate her quirks and show her as the Doctor's highly amourous stalker - everything in a humorous way._

_However, a stalker in real life is scary and not funny at all (I know that because I had a stalker myself and though he never harmed me physically, he scared me to hell and back). This fic won't deal with the dread a stalker brings upon his victim - it's supposed to be a romantic comedy and even River will get a super fluffy happy ending._

"I am the Oncoming Storm. The Bringer of Darkness. The Great Exterminator."

Standing in his spacious medical office, Doctor John Noble tries to regain his composure by reciting the aliases of his favourite science-fiction hero. Despite it's light modern furniture and a spectacular view over the London skyline, the room seems to choke him.

He needs to get a hold of himself, needs to calm his raging heart, which is currently pounding his blood at such reckless speed through his veins, that he's certain he's got two of them. John scoots his hands frantically through the luscious strands of his chocolate-brown hair, tugs it in frustration as he stares desperately at the phone on his desk – a phone that won't stop ringing and probably never again will.

It is that _damn_ hair that brought him into his current predicament. The hair and his bloody superior biology. As if being such an irresistibly handsome devil is his fault – it isn't. Absolutely not, nope, no sir. It's not his fault women (okay not women – it was only one) can't keep their hands to themselves and out of his hair, or away from his (if he might admit) frankly magnificent ass.

It is NOT his fault Professor River Song, archaeologist and notorious flirt, can't stop thinking about the glory of his body. He didn't ask to be such an attractive man. It's not like he has control over his looks. After all it's a lottery which body you're given, which isn't fair come to think of it.

"I can deal with this," he tells himself with more confidence he feels. "I am the Oncoming Storm. I could deal with Daleks, Sontarans, Slitheen and Racnoss."

Racnoss? Racnosses? What's the plural of Racnoss? Does it matter? Does anybody know? Giving himself a mental slap, John tries focusing on the task at hand again. Loosening his tie, he takes a step towards his phone, giving it a glance animal trainers have reserved for particularly obstreperous creatures. It's a hard, severe, unforgiving stare and he's quite proud being able to muster such an intimidating facial expression – it's a shame no one's around to appreciate it.

"I could totally take down a Borg every day," John continues as he sucks in a deep breath, curling his tongue behind his teeth. "Borg...Borg...Borg," he mumbles distractedly, wondering if that was Star Trek or Star Wars. He should really re-watch Star Wars, the classic movies not the hideous sequel (or was it a prequel?). But admitted, Natalie Portman was quite pretty in them – even if she isn't blonde. John is usually all for the blondes...

Right! Phone. Phone ringing and no stopping.

Straightening his shoulders, John picks up the offending technical device, careful only to touch it with his forefinger and thumb, and wonders how much disgust the poor little phone is able to provoke.

It's worse than suspected. There are 78 missed calls. Even if his sister Donna has had an especially bad day at work and even if Jack Harkness is especially determined to drag him out tonight to this damn club opening he's been on about for weeks now, and even if he's needed to perform a highly complex surgery the next morning, there are still about 60 calls that come from _her_. The woman he wants to get rid of.

Bloody Jack Harkness and his constant nagging. "Go out Doc." "Meet a girl Doc." "It's been ages since Romana left you, Doc."

And look how that turned out! For once he's a bit flirty, let's his charm play and his left eyebrow do the job, and he's got himself a fuckin stalker. She wasn't even that interesting, the _archaeologist_. What do these people do anyway? They dig around in the dirt, making more or less educated guesses about history.

John huffs as he lets out an exasperated groan. Meeting River Song is a bit of a blur. The woman hit on him in the library where he usually spends his free days, and complimented him right away. First John had thought she had mistaken him for someone else. The confidence with which she called him "Sweetie" and "Pretty Boy" had been unnerving – and a bit exciting.

After all, it's one thing knowing that you look good, but a completely different to get some female attention at last. She had told him about her recent excavations in India and the destroyed empire of Vashta Nerada, and talked him into going out for a drink. The last thing he remembers are blatant sexual offers that crossed the line from intriguing to creepy at such reckless speed he thinks they must have travelled in time. Whenever snippets of their conversation surface, John wants to tamp them down with all his might. He knows they talked about astrophysics and black holes, and the conversation was going pretty well until she asked him if he wanted to sink his spaceship in her black hole. After that, there's a literal big black hole in John's memory and he prays to every deity he doesn't believe in, that he did not sink anything anywhere in those missing hours.

The sound of his office door being ripped open enthusiastically startles John from his musings, and he jumps so hard at the unexpected sound, he nearly trips over his own feet.

"Johnny boy," Captain Jack, one of his oldest friends and member of the military medical unit, cajoles from the door, giving him a grin that needs to come with a warning to put some shades on. Of course his infamous friend has to show up today. Strolling into John's office like he owned the place, the Captain flops down on the couch close to his desk. Leaning back casually, he makes himself comfortable and even stretches his feet across the furniture.

"Jack," he groans. "You scared the hell outta me." John had been standing with his back against the door, facing his desk and the phone that had been lying on the shiny wooden surface. Dropping the phone back where he'd just picked it up from, John turns around to pay his friend some attention.

"What's the matter, Johnny boy?" The Captain quirks an eyebrow at him. "Today's the big opening, Torchwood club is finally ready and _you_ promised me ages ago we gonna have a nice night out. Besides, you're getting itchy again – I see the signs. I'll get you properly sloshed before you're back off to Africa doing your "Doctors without Borders" thing again."

"It's not a _thing_, as you so eloquently put it, Jack. I'm doing more good down there in one day than in an entire year in London," he huffs, pacing his office and letting his long, slim fingers slide along the mahogany surface of his desk distractedly.

"I know, I know. Still...what if you want to settle down?" the Captain inquires and John makes a sound between a snort and a disgusted giggle. "Right. What about you, me and a nice bottle of vodka at the club before you take off again without as much as leaving a note?" he demands to know, ignoring John's opinion on staying at London for now.

"Thank you," he grumbles. "My nights out don't end well," he says just as the phone goes off again.

"That lady won't stop calling?" Jack asks slightly concerned.

"Nope." Putting down his specs John wipes his face wearily. "And she's hardly a lady," he adds as an afterthought, collapsing on the chair behind his desk and propping up his feet up.

"Oh come on – it's not like the girls are fanning over you. If she's not the right just tell her to stop calling. What happened between the two of you anyway?"

"I've told her!" he bursts out. "And as for what happened: we had a little flirt, she wasn't my cup of tea. I excused myself, and wanted to leave, and Bazinga! The next morning I wake up in her flat, my hands lashed to her bedpost with my own necktie, and River calling me her "husband"."

"Bazinga?" Jack gapes at his friend. "Johnny, that's the way I wake up every Sunday: naked and tied to a bed. Get over it!"

"I. Was. Not. Naked!" he growls in response, punctuating each word precisely. "And stop calling me Johnny. What's the point in Johnny anyway? It's even longer than my _actual_ name: John. And just for the record, this sort of unwanted attention is _not_ flattering. This woman has more issues than National Geographic. She collects weapons, and I'm fairly sure she drugged me, cause I still can't remember _how_ I ended up at her flat!"

"Calm down, _Doctor_," Jack returns, holding up his hands in submission. "Maybe you just had a few too many. And let her come down from her little crush too – after all you're pretty damn hot. Still not interested in testing out something new?" he adds flirtatiously.

"Jack _please_," he whines.

"Ah Doc, I wish I could hear you moan like that more often," Jack smirks. "Ready for the club opening now?"

"I'm not going anywhere! The last thing I need is another bunny boiler," he huffs.

"Don't give me that. You're divorced for how long now? 6 years? Even Romana moved on and this River chick going a little psycho on you is just bad luck. Most people are just like you: lonely and in need of a good, hard shag," Jack points out, getting up to his feet and poking his forefinger provokingly into his buddy's chest.

"I'm not _lonely_," John sputters, slightly infuriated.

"But you don't deny that you could need to get laid," Jack retorts dryly. "Get that velvet burgundy pimp jacket outta your closet, and get ready to rumble."

"It's _not_ a pimp jacket!"

"It totally is," Jack replies grinning saucily. "Come on. I've booked a V.I.P table and after all it's your birthday. You're not telling me you'll be so rude as to turn down your own birthday present?"

"That's me! Rude and not ginger," he answers, giving his friend a slightly manic grin with too much teeth involved.

"Yeah, well...not today!" The Captain gets up and ripping John's closet open, he fishes out said burgundy suit jacket, and tosses it as his friend who catches the garment mid-flight. "Now, get that pin striped suit off your body and put that and some jeans on. Or just take your clothes off. That would definitely convince me to stay in," the Captain winks.

"Aaaaalright, club it is then," John answers hurrying into the his private en-suite. Being the leading heart-surgeon has definitely benefits. Like spacious offices with attached bathrooms and salaries so big one could get ashamed of.

"By the way: your hair looks great! Don't spend hours in there trying to make it all look like you just rolled outta bed," Jack calls after him.

The club itself is everything John normally avoids. There are colourful flickering lights. The surfaces of the floor, ceiling and the bar are too black, too polished and too posh to feel comfortable, and for God's sake, are there really women dancing in cages dangling from the ceiling? John is ready to bolt after a scant five minutes.

Jack is naturally having none of that. Shoving his best friend forcefully into a seat and threatening him to knock him straight into next week if he dares leaving before he's had a chance of giving him his birthday present, he sways off towards the bar. John is left sitting in a very modern, yet uncomfortable chair. The backrest forces his body into an awkward angle and he's sitting too low. Soon, John is sitting on the edge, his long, lean body folded together and his head resting on his knuckles. There's nothing much he can do until Jack returns. Even thinking is hardly possible, what with "Animus Vox" banging from the speakers, the low bass-sound causing even his teeth to vibrate. John can feel the music deep in his bones and he isn't sure he likes it.

Staring ahead into the darkness of the dance-floor, John tries adjusting his eyes to the lights flickering in green, red and white colours. He's bored out of his tremendous mind and considers leaving – as if Jack wasn't already flirting or even having a quickie at the loo. John stays though, too tired and exhausted to protest.

There isn't much to do, so he lets his gaze roam over the female dancers in the cages. He thinks they look like budgies – trapped and bared to the lust of countless men. John is slightly disgusted and wonders why Jack thought he would like this kind of place.

That is until his eyes get caught by a real life goddess. There, in one of these appalling, humiliating cages, dances the most beautiful woman John has _ever_ seen. A flash of blue light highlights perfect white skin, lush, golden hair shines so brightly it almost bedazzles him.

She's only clad in a silky corset , sporting breakneck high-heels and fishnet stockings. He didn't even know until just now, that he even had a _thing _for fishnet stockings, but he positively does. Garters are holding the stockings in place, partially covering endless legs but revealing the swell of her hips and about twenty inches of smooth, tantalizing skin. Her overflowing breasts are pushed up, corseted to hilt, and just begging to be touched and caressed. The Doctor realises he's gaping.

Despite all this, what really gets to him, though, is her smile. It's that kind of gorgeous and rare thousand watter that gets your own lips twitch in return. She's even putting mirror balls around her to shame. And oh! Did she just turn those thousand watts on him? He stares back at her, sensing the start of a goofy grin spreading across his face.

She's moving incomparably gracefully in her confined space, letting her hands roam over the length of her body and swaying her hips with the music. The girl has pink, voluptuous lips and slightly too big teeth. She isn't slim but curvy, he realizes and his blood starts definitely rushing south.

For a moment, she is illuminated by the churning kleigs, the brilliant light tinging her skin in molten gold, and filling her eyes with an almost lupine glow. And then she throws her head back mid-dance, reveals her neck to his (and countless other) eyes, all those golden locks of her framing her face, giving her an unearthly halo and all John can think about is getting out of his seat and over to this dancing glory.

He wonders how such an exquisite creature could have possibly ended up in a _cage_ of all places, making sultry moves in what amounts to glorified knickers, and his mind conjures some wild "Pretty Woman" scenario in which he rescues her from her terrible fate like some knight in shining armour.

"Enjoy the view?" Jack's voice rips him out of his wonderful daydream and John can't help glaring at the intruder - before his face turns pink, that is. "It's okay if you like her," Jack reassures him with a wink. "In fact, it helps move matters along." Grinning like the cat who caught the canary Jack dramatically announces, "Doctor John Noble, you are currently admiring your birthday present!"


	2. Start Runnin'

**Betaed by the fantastic leftennant (find her on Ao3).**

"What do you mean – _birthday present_?!" John squeaks, jumping from the terrible chair and nearly knocking the tiny cocktail table over.

"The girl you've been staring at – _she's_ your birthday present!" Jack announces happily, rocking back and forth on his heels and grinning like a model from a toothpaste-ad – It's infuriating.

"You bought me a _whore_?" the Doctor hisses, lowering his voice at the word "whore" as his body goes rigid and his fists clench.

"That's such a nasty word," the Captain teases him as he raises his glass towards the blonde in the cage. The girl gives him a little wave, and John grabs the glass from his friend's hands and gulps it down in one go.

"I will not sleep with a whore," he tells him firmly, putting the glass down with an audible clink.

Jack waves him off. "She isn't a prostitute. She'll just give you a very private taste of her dancing skills, and hopefully remind you of the fact that that thing between your legs has other uses besides taking a leak."

The Doctor quirks an eyebrow. "I'm perfectly aware of the human biology, thank you very much."

"Really?" Jack asks him in mock astonishment. "You divorced six years ago from a woman you never really had a connection with in the first place. You only travel across the planet, trying to save every human being you come across, and you never stay long enough to make a connection. You're fuckin' _lonely_, that's what you are. Hell, would it kill you to live a little? Get pissed, get a girl and have some fun like the rest of us stupid apes?"

"Thank you for that thorough examination of my psychology," the Doctor retorts drily. "And how exactly would a _stripper _of all things help me to become more outgoing?"

"Because it's _fun_," Jack states matter of factly. "And admit it: she's absolutely gorgeous and she'll sure as hell get your motor running. Maybe she'll even take you out for a test drive."

"No. Absolutely not, Jack," the Doctor answers, voice as cold as the ice in their drinks.

"Oh, come on! I've already paid her – and trust me, a girl like that doesn't wiggle for free," Jack pouts.

"I've said no!" John repeats, already turning to leave. Swinging around with verve, his elbow comes into contact with something soft. He hears a pained gasp as his momentum shoves a human body into the chair he has been occupying.

"Ouch," a female voice winces and the Doctor quickly turns back around, already feeling guilty about his impulsive behaviour. As he extends a hand to pull the woman back up, his jaw drops. The vision from the cage is sprawled over the chair, looking him up and down sceptically. The woman's amber eyes are filled with mistrust and even worse – a hint of fear.

"I am so sorry," the Doctor says quickly. "Didn't see you there. Was just about to leave, I'm truly sorry, never meant to hurt you," he rushes out without pausing to catch his breath. But really, a woman looking at him like that – that just doesn't do.

As he rambles on, apologising over and over, a smile blossoms on her face and the girl gives him a tongue-touched grin as she allows him to pull her up on her feet.

"I'm Rose," she introduces herself, gracefully coming around the tiny table despite her break-neck heels. "It usually takes a bloke more time to knock me off my feet," she tells him with a wink, and John blushes.

"I can imagine," he mumbles, scratching his neck awkwardly and dropping his eyes to her heaving chest – a chest currently trapped in very tight corset. Blushing again, he forces his wandering eyes to snap back up.

Tilting her head, Rose smiles seductively. "You're allowed to look, ya know? It's my job, being looked at." She grins again and holds out her hand towards him. "Ready for the show?" she asks, and there's literally no other choice than taking it. He feels her soft, warm fingers brush against his palm and their fingers naturally entwine. Everything about the movement just feels so right. It's as if their hands were _made _to fit together.

Rendered speechless, he lets her guide him through the club towards the private booths at the back. A tiny part of his brain reminds him that just moments ago, he vehemently revolted against getting a private dance, but now, with _Rose _being so close, he can't find it in him to protest. Her long blonde curls are swaying in time with her hips as she tugs him along. Her bum is just as stunning as the rest of her, and really, he'd probably follow these endless legs anywhere in the universe. From the corner of his eye he catches Jacks smug grin, but the sight he's currently granted is totally worth the music he'll be facing later.

Swinging a door open, she leads him into a tiny room only decorated with a pole and thankfully, a very comfortable looking lounge. Ushering him inside, she settles him on the plush cushions. "Make yourself comfy," she commands with a soft smile. "Whiskey?" she asks, vanishing behind a small bar.

"Yeah," John croaks out.

"Ever had a private dance before?" Rose wants to know, arching her eyebrow expectantly.

"Uhm...no," he answers honestly. "Are there rules?"

"Lean back, enjoy the show and touching is forbidden," Rose replies cheerfully but he's got a certain feeling obeying to the last rule might be pretty damn vital.

"Got it." He nods solemnly as he clenches his fists beside him, to be on the safe side.

Music starts to play and it couldn't be more cliché than "E.T." but it definitely is.

_You're so hypnotising,  
><em>

_Could you be the devil, could you be an angel,  
><em>

_Your touch magnetizing,  
><em>

_Feels like going floating, leave my body glowing,  
><em>

_They say be afraid,  
><em>

_You're not like the others, futuristic lovers,  
><em>

_Different DNA, they don't understand you,_

She sways towards him, in synch with the song, and he never thought he'd ever develop a predilection for Katy Perry. A night of revelations this seems to be – first the fishnet-stockings, now pop-songs. Usually, he's a Glen Miller Man, but the words of this song seem to be ripped from the core of his soul.

Straddling his lap, Rose hands him over his drink, and her hot breath hits his throat as his own hitches. "Tell me what you want," she whispers into his ear, and he shudders beneath her as her breasts brush the front of his velvet-suit.

Leaning back, she lets her hair pour down and exposes her creamy, white neck to his eyes. Lithely slipping off his thighs, she takes the few steps to the pole, and never breaking eye-contact, she starts swinging around the rod. One leg hiked around the cool metal, the other one up in the air. Every single coherent thought in John's mind packs his bag and leaves the boat.

He's trying very hard to calm the growing ache between his legs, breaking down her movements around the pole into simple maths and geometry. However, when she arches her back, nearly pushing her breast over the hem of her corset, and giving him a particularly wicked grin, his cock jumps to full attention.

Suddenly, she's kneeling in front of him, her full lips only inches from his very private parts, and glancing up at him from under her thick lashes. She's moving up his body, teasing him with her close proximity but never touching his body and oh! If it's possible to die from frustration he'd already be lying stiff on the floor.

_Stiff_, he doesn't even notice how rigid he is in his hot-seat, and how ragged his breath comes out until she suddenly stops her tantalizing movements.

"You're okay?" Rose wants to know. "You're kinda pale, ya know."

"I..I..don't know," he stutters. "Stop!" he all of a sudden barks out and she almost jumps off his lap. Giving her a sorrowful smile and tilting his head to the side, he explains, "I can't enjoy this. Not really."

"I'm not your type, right?" she asks. "I can send in another dancer, if you want," she offers and he snorts.

"Not my type?" he says baffled. "I don't think there's a straight guy whose type you're not, but _this_," he gestures between them. "You don't want me, you do that for money and I can't..." His voice cracks and he's pleading her with his mimic to understand that he's not the type who can get over the fact that every interaction between him and her is being paid for.

"Oh," Rose breathes out and sits down beside him. Silence settles between the two of them, and ever so softly she confesses, "You know, I like being a dancer. I'm not ashamed of what I do."

"I," he swallows, "I never said you should be, but I'm ashamed of myself."

"For what?"

"For being no better."

"Better than who?"

"Every other man on this planet." He grins ruefully.

"Your friend was _really _right – you totally have trouble letting go," she tells him with a small smile and he nods.

"But _why_?" he can't help asking. "I get you're a dancer, but why like that?"

"A girl has got to eat," she quips, nudging his shoulder.

"Shall I end up on the streets," he retorts with the line from "Moulin Rouge" and her face falls.

"Exactly." Getting onto her knees, she scoots closer to him, and her perfume, a pleasant mixture of coconuts and vanilla, fills his nostrils. "What's your name?" Rose wants to know.

John's mind is blissfully blank with her lips being right in front of his face. "Doctor," he stutters out in response and Rose's eyebrows shoot up to her hairline. "That's not a name – that's a title."

"That's who I am," he responds. "Or what I want to be."

"Dancing is what I do, not who I am," she retorts icily, misunderstanding his answer.

"Rose..no..that's not.. I didn't mean to imply that." Groaning in frustration and ruffling an agitated hand through his hair, he wonders when exactly it became so important for him that she doesn't misunderstand him.

Just as he's about to open his mouth to tell her his real name, the door to their private booth swings open and a guy with greasy, light-brown hair and messy clothes storms in. Rose's eyes widen in fear. John's head snaps towards the intruder as he notices how the lovely girl at his side has suddenly frozen.

"Found you, _bitch_!" the man crows and approaches her, eyes bulging in anger.

"That's hardly the way to talk to a lady," John tells the man, slowly rising to his feet.

"You're calling this whore a lady?!" the man laughs out loud. "Get outta here, mate. That business is between me and this slut." Glancing back at the girl on the sofa, the man says, "Get your arse back into my flat _right now_."

Swallowing, Rose finally speaks. "No, Jimmy. I won't," she tells the man, and John can tell she's trying to disguise the slight thread of fear in her voice.

That tiny tremble is enough to awaken a feeling of protectiveness towards her. "You heard her. Now, get out!" he barks coolly.

"Piss off, you tosser," Jimmy replies. "That slag is my girl-friend, and her arse is expected back home."

John reaches for Rose's hand, threading his fingers through hers. Then he puts himself between her and the man she called Jimmy. He can feel that she's shaking slightly and her hand is cold and clammy with fear. Taking stock of his adversary, John comes to the conclusion that he doesn't stand a chance against the heavier, more muscular guy. Their only chance is surprise.

Taking a step back, he whispers, "Run!" into Rose's ear, and begins sprinting for the front door with her in tow. Jimmy's too startled to stop them, but soon catches up and chases them through the club.

Rose screams out loud, and Jimmy makes a grab for her wrist, securing it in his thick fist. Jack notices the commotion and enters the fray, deliberately stumbling into the man's path and flinging his drink in his face. Jimmy lets go, and John pulls Rose out of the club, straight into the heavy London rain.

They don't stop running until they're around a corner. Panting heavily, they lean against a brick-wall. It's a bit surreal, really, John thinks. There he is, standing beside a cluster of bins behind the club with an armful of half-naked woman, feeling more alive than he has in the last six years – or possibly his entire life.

"I'm so getting sacked for this," Rose declares before they both bark out in laughter and John puts his jacket around her shoulders.

Maybe, his pretty woman fantasies are about to come true, he thinks as he waves over a cab and ushers Rose inside.


	3. Eyes off the Blonde!

"Oi, not in my cab!" The driver groans exasperated at the sight of the odd couple.

"What?" The Doctor stares back, puzzled.

"Keep you hands to yourself, mate. I promise, you don't wanna find out how much the cleaning costs."

"Why keeps everybody telling me this tonight?" he whines is response.

"We'll behave," Rose chimes in, looking amused.

"What?!" The Doctor still doesn't get it.

"I'm clad in my underwear," she explains patiently.

"So?" He asks, face still blank. Rose pats his lower arm, and finally, the coin drops.

"But we just met!" he exclaims, face heating up, and the cabbie and Rose share a chuckle.

"Congratulations, mate!" The cabbie grins back at him through the mirror. "These will be beautiful babies, no question. But you won't make 'em in my cab, are we clear on that? So, where to?"

The Doctor's face turns an even darker shade of pink as Rose leans forward to tell the driver her address. The car lurches and starts moving through the chilly night air, and the Doctor retreats into himself. Back at the club, he acted on instinct, now, he doesn't know what to say or do. Getting restless, he starts fidgeting with the fabric of his pants.

"You alright?" Rose asks, taking his hand.

"Of course!" he responds, wincing at his own loud voice. Thankfully, the car already screeches to a halt.

"There we are! 12 pounds, please," the cabbie announces.

"Uhm...Don't have any money on me," Rose mumbles, slightly abashed. "Would you, please? You gonna get it back, just come up with me?" Now it's her time to fidget and the Doctor fights down a proud grin. It's an effort not to give the driver any more ideas about what is definitely not going to happen – at least not tonight. Usually, he doesn't have even a pound in his pocket, but _tonight_. Oh, tonight is so _different_.

He follows her up into her tiny flat, praising whatever deity is responsible for deeming it good manners to walk behind a woman, appreciating her stockings again. The staircase is clean, yet battered – like the rest of the bedraggled house.

Rose's breath hitches as she reaches what must be her flat, and she takes a step back. Looking over her shoulder, the Doctor notices that the door dangles askew from the door hinge. Squeezing her hand reassuringly, he prepares himself to grab her and run back down, but Rose has other ideas.

Taking a leap, she walks swiftly through the door, her companion close behind. A proper mess is awaiting them. Clothes are scattered across the room, drawers have been dumped out, books are lying across the floor, pages partially torn out. What must have been a cosy, yet small flat now resembles the inside of a trash bin now.

Letting go of his hand, Rose bends down and picks up a book. She strokes it almost reverently before closing it and putting it on a small coffee-table.

"Dickens?" the Doctor half asks, half states, taking in the cover.

"Mmh," Rose mumbles in response as she starts picking up bits and pieces of her possessions. She moves methodically, like a puppet on a string as she works with one hand, the other one draped protectively around her body.

"You shouldn't do that," he interrupts her, and she stares at him as if she just remembered he's here with her.

"I..I..I..." Words fail her and she's trembling again. "I'm usually not that messy. I think that was Jimmy," she declares finally.

"I guessed," he replies flatly. "You should leave your stuff as it is, Rose. Let's call the police so they can collect evidence."

"But..." Staring around the room, she nods. "My phone...it's back at the club," she stutters and the Doctor flashes her a slightly manic grin as he reaches into his own trouser pocket.

"I'll take care of that, and you, you should maybe...ehm." Tugging his ear he gestures up and down her frame and Rose frowns.

Looking down her body, she turns an adorable shade of pink and closes the front of his jacket. All of a sudden, she looks especially vulnerable. He trusts his hands into his pockets and tilts his chin, wondering what it must feel like only clad in your underwear with a stranger in your raided flat. Fiddling with her earring, she searches the floor for a shirt and some jeans.

Giving her some privacy, he turns around. "Did he steal anything? Is something missing?" the Doctor wants to know. Rocking back and forth on his heels, he waits for Rose to make herself decent.

"Uhm...TV's missing and..." He hears her scrabbling. "And my cash," she finishes the sentence.

When the Doctor hits the call button, he's outwardly calm and composed, but inside, a storm is raging. How dare anyone invade another person's privacy like that? How dare a man, who obviously mucked up with a woman, scare her like that? Until that Jimmy fellow had shown up, Rose had been confident, cheeky and now she's barely holding on.

"I'm sorry," she says as he ends the call. Turning around, he notices she's still not dressed, but hugging the jacket around herself as if her life depends on it.

"What for?"

"For spoiling your birthday. I'm a terrible present." The ghost of a smile crosses her features and the Doctor can't help beaming back at her.

"Rubbish!" he exclaims cheerfully. "I would have spent the evening watching telly and munching banana-scones. This is much more fun! Like getting thrown into an Agatha Christie novel. I could do without murder, though. No fun, murder. A raid is better – well, not better. Less harm, that's what it is. No people hurt, just ehm_...stuff."_ He bites his tongue and Rose sends him and odd look before doubling over from laughter.

"If you put it like that," she chokes out between giggles. Tilting her head she starts fiddling with her earring again, but the gesture has lost it's nervous streak and almost seems to be flirtatious now. Grabbing her jeans, she retreats into her tiny bathroom.

When she emerges, her face is scrubbed clean from make-up, her hair is bound up in a messy pony-tail, she's clad in some well-worn jeans and a plain white shirt – and she looks incredibly _young_.

"Blimey, how old are you?" the Doctor can't help asking gobsmacked.

"22," she replies, looking shy, sweet and innocent. Suddenly, he feels like an lecherous old man, and he silently curses Jack for bringing him into this mess in the first place.

"Soooo," she drawls, and there's that teasing smile again. It's back in place, with a bit of her former confidence. "You know almost everything about me, all in one night's work. My name, address, age, ex-boyfriend. But I, I still don't know my knight in shining armour's name."

"Adam Mitchell!" A harsh voice bellows from the door, just as the Doctor opens his mouth to speak, and whoever Adam Mitchell is, John Noble wishes he'd rot in hell for his terrible timing.

"Police Detective." The man adds, waving some kind of paper around haughtily. "I heard there's been a raid."

"Yes, I called," the Doctor answers.

"And the flat belongs to?" Detective Mitchell snarls.

"To me, Rose Tyler."

"Very well, Tyler." The man nods, stepping deep into the girl's personal space and staring her down effectively. Behind him, two other man enter the flat and start digging through her belongings. Snatching a notebook from his pocket, the detective starts firing questions at Rose. "When did you leave your flat? Where did you go? When did you came back? Any idea who might have done that? What's missing?" He doesn't even catch his breath, let alone lets her answer a single question, but when he finishes, he taps his pen impatiently against his teeth. "I don't have all night," he bellows harshly.

Taking a gulp, Rose starts retelling the events. She left her flat around six in the evening, went straight to work, where she started helping preparing the grand club opening. She and the Doctor came back shortly after midnight and she thinks her flat has been raided by her ex, who had threatened her tonight. Her TV, as well as 300 pounds she kept in a piggybank beside her bed, are missing.

"Miss Tyler, why do you think this is the doing of your ex?" Mitchell demands to know.

"He's on drugs, that's why I kicked him out." Looking down at her shoes, Rose whispers, "That, and the police have been here before – he beat me up." At that, the Doctor sucks in a ragged breath.

"Speak clearly, Tyler," Mitchell snaps. "So, he's on drugs," he states. "And you? Do you take drugs?" His tone indicates he's convinced she does.

"No!" Rose shakes her head firmly. "I never did and I never will. Don't even smoke."

"Of course." Mitchell's voice is laced with sarcasm. "And your profession, Tyler? You said you work at a club. What are you doing there?"

"I dance," she answers.

"_Dance_?" he echoes, and the Doctor likes him less and less. "And what kind of _dance_ would that be?"

"Pole dance," she mumbles, face heating up under the detective's stare.

"So you're a stripper." Mitchell grins filthily now, eyes raking down her body in a way that makes the Doctor clench his fists.

"I think," the Doctor says slowly, savouring each word, "you haven't been listening. She does _not _undress, she dances – around a pole."

"As if that's a difference." Mitchell waves him off, now staring openly at Rose's chest.

"Oi, my eyes are up here," Rose interjects him in annoyance, and the Doctor smirks. Now, she's back.

"Shouldn't you be used to that already? Or do I have to pay first?" the detective counters and the Doctor's patience snaps.

"And shouldn't you be doing your job?" he asks, voice low, eyes brewing with anger.

"I am! Look, if some drug addict whore's flat gets raided, we have an almost endless list of suspects. We need the name of her clients, dealers and so on," Mitchell explains. "By the way, who are _you_? Are you a client? Maybe I should arrest you, miss Tyler, for illegal prostitution?"

This time, Rose is flushed from rage. But before she can let off her righteous tirade, the Doctor's gob starts running. "First of all," the Doctor says, stepping beside Rose and putting his arm around her waist. "She is _not _a whore. I personally deem dancing to be a form of art – but I suppose a man like you wouldn't even recognise art, if Shakespeare himself would invite you to the Globe Theatre. Secondly, she is _not _a drug addict, but a victim. It would be kind, if you treated her as such. If not, I might call my lawyer, Maggie Gardner. Strike that, I'll call her anyway and we'll make an official complaint."

Mitchell opens his mouth in protest, but the Doctor raises his hand, shushing him effectively with the gesture and his intimidating stare. "Thirdly, I would appreciate it very much, if you'd stop leering at my _fiancée_. Piteous weasels like you might be allowed to look at her, but I'm the lucky sod who's allowed to take her home."

Addressing Rose, the Doctor adds, "Come on, darling. Get your bearings and let these men do whatever they call their _job_."

Too dumbfounded to even dare protesting, Rose squeezes herself around the horrid detective and starts shoving her most necessary stuff into her handbag.


	4. Pounce!

**Warning: NSFW!**

John feels like Rose's hand is glued to his. This whole night had been about running around and holding hands so far – and there's no end in sight. What with "his" blonde beauty in tow, currently storming out of the Powell Estates.

He's fuming, radiating anger, and tense like a bow. Every fibre in his being is set on fire as he tries regaining his composure and calm. Imagining various painful and cruel ways for Adam Mitchell and Jimmy Stone to die, however, doesn't seem to do the trick.

Their fingers are still entwined, and he knows he's clutching her delicate skin too firmly, intent to never let her go again. Rose is breathing heavily beside him. The ragged sounds torn from her throat force him snap out of his haze, and at last he realises she's having trouble keeping up with his long stride.

Dropping her hand, he stops still in his tracks and freezes. He just called her his "fiancée" - and whisked her away like a proper caveman. For all he knows, she could be furious, or terrified by him acting no better than that lunatic, River Song, who won't stop calling him. Watching her from the corner of his eye, he tries figuring out, if he'd better start praying to some supernatural being he doesn't believe in, to protect him from her wrath.

Sucking in the air through her teeth, Rose bites her lip and grins at him, eyes sparkling with mischief. "The lucky sod, mmh? Is that what you think you are? The guy who gets me to his home tonight?" she half teases, half asks.

Tugging his ear and fidgeting with his hair, the Doctor tries thinking of a witty reply. Failing, he instead gapes at her like some fish dropped on land. Rose chuckles. The bright sound of her mirth reminds him of Christmas-bells, and a time when he still had a family and didn't had this urge to run away all the time. The faces of people long gone invade to forefront of his mind, and he wishes to pump his legs again.

Yet, _something_ has changed. Usually, he'd rather be alone now, wallowing in self-pity. For once, he'd be very content running around with _her_ for the rest of their lives – to and from danger, whatever the universe would decide to toss at them.

Their lives? Where did that thought come from? He knows her only for three hours, there's no way she'd...

Rose catches his wrist and his head snaps up. The mischief is gone from her face and she looks worried, guilty.

"Really, I'm glad for your help," she says apropos to something he obviously missed. "I don't want to be a burden, but could you maybe just look me up a hotel on your phone? Cause I really have no idea were to sleep tonight." Pulling up her shoulders and dangling her little, pink bag around, his blonde girl looks so pretty and innocent and insecure, he wishes he could reach out, and kiss the frown from her forehead.

"You can sleep in my bed," he blurts out. He only listened to her half-heartedly until now, but when she mentioned leaving, his attention is 100% focused on her.

She blushes furiously and starts to stutter some reply when he realises his lapse. "No, no, no," John cries out frantically. "That came out wrong. I meant sleeping. Alone. Only you and my bed. Me?" he gestures frantically at his face. "I'll be very far away. Wellll, not far – in my living room in fact on the sofa." His face is hot and sweat is standing out on his forehead, ruining his artfully tousled locks and he's suddenly terrified this complete stranger will leave him standing on this chilly street for good.

Rose halts his babbling by pressing her forefinger softly to his lips. "Lead the way," she whispers and he breathes out a relieved sigh, when their wandering through this endless, wonderful commences again.

John Noble lives on the other side of the town, in a building provided by the hospital he works for. Like his office, his loft provides a marvellous view over the town. The city-lights provide an ethereal light-source when he leads Rose inside. As she turns towards him, his breath catches in his throat. It's the second time this night she resembles more a goddess than a human being.

He wants to back her up against the nearest wall, snog her silly and make her moan his name. But it's too soon for that, and these actions would only lead to some meaningless one night stand. Having this beautiful woman in his flat makes John recognise how lonely he truly is, how right Jack always was, and how desperately he wants to keep her around – this girl that seems to be just as damaged underneath the bright veneer of her smile as he is.

"Hungry?" he squeaks out, not knowing what to do now she's there with him.

"Famished," she replies, stepping out of her shoes and walking over to the gigantic panorama window dominating his living-room. "S'gorgeous," she states in awe.

Eyes trained intently at her, he replies, "it truly is," before vanishing into his kitchen.

Rose follows a moment later and hops straight on the counter, like she lives her – he rather likes that. Searching through his fridge, he produces five different jars of jam, a half-empty glass of honey and a brown banana. She eyes the fruit with obvious disgust. "Oi! Bananas are good!" he admonishes her.

"Sure they are – but not this one," she replies, taking the rotten thing from his hands and dropping it into the nearest trash bin. "No wonder you're such a wiry guy. Do you never eat?"

Sticking his finger thoughtfully into the jam, he shakes his head. "Eating right now."

"You've got a sweet tooth," she observes, watching him sail into the strawberry jam.

Rose tilts her head in amusement as she grabs a jar of marmalade. Following his example, she starts eating from the glass. Unlike him, she's using a spoon and not her fingers – which is, as he realises, a blessing for his sanity. John isn't entirely sure, what he'd do if he'd have to watch her licking her fingers clean, swirling the pink, glistening tip of her tongue around her rosy flesh and...Right! This train of thought isn't leading anywhere.

"Did you just call me _wiry_?" he suddenly asks. "I'll let you know, I'm not _wiry_. Thin, yes. Muscular, definitely. Agile, sure as hell. Manly." He waggles his eyebrows at her and she laughs again.

"Wiry," she smirks. "Lean, lanky," she adds.

"These are two words with "L"," he tells her, arching an eyebrow. He's rummaging through his freezer now, searching for the pack of fish and chips he remembers buying some time ago.

"Might try a word starting with "S" then," Rose muses. And is she ogling his bum?! "Like "sexy"?" she asks innocently, and John drops the frozen chips to the floor. He tries to make it up, attempts a sexy smirk, but rather achieves an awkward grimace.

Instead of laughing outright at him, making fun of his clumsiness, she takes the chips gently from him and places her hand on his face. "Why are you doing all this for me?" she asks.

_You're beautiful._

_You make me feel alive and happy._

_I haven't felt this drawn to a woman in my entire life._

_Your self-confidence when dancing around in your underwear knocked the air from my lungs._

Is what he thinks, what comes out of his mouth though, is an undefinable huff. "I don't know," he finally says, shrugging.

Suddenly, Rose spins around, eyes going wide. "Your friend!" she cries. "We need to go back to the club. What if Jimmy hurt him? Oh my God, how could I forgot him." She's chewing her thumb, already grabbing her coat and moving towards the door.

John only chuckles. "Jack is fine – he's probably already shagging the bartender he's been checking out."

At Rose's confused expression, he elaborates, "Jack isn't someone who'd be taken down by some kid. He's an army captain – and one of the sort you'd better not mess with."

"But...," she starts. "I was so selfish – what if Jimmy _did_ hurt him."

John snorts. "Definitely not – but I'll call him for you," he adds and Rose nods eagerly. As expected, the Captain doesn't answer his phone but sends John pictures of some male's naked bum and a vigorously grinning smiley. It's already three in the morning, he notes, when staring at the display of his phone. River called eight more times and obviously must have fallen asleep at some point, because there are no more calls after 1 a.m.

Rose retreats to catch a shower after being reassured Jack is even more than only fine, and John busies himself in the meantime with the frozen chips. He's desperately trying to will away the thoughts about the woman currently standing under the warm spray of his shower, all glistening and wet, coated with soap, _dripping_.

He groans and then curses when he pulls the chips out of his oven the last minute. Admittedly, they are a tad bit darker than on the advert-pic, but it's not like he learned cooking from Paul Bocuse.

Rose emerges from his bathroom, bringing a dizzying scent and a damp warmth with her. She's wearing a plain white shirt and some loose cotton shorts. Her long, well-toned legs are showing and he thinks medals are in order for his ability to keep his eyes on her face.

He settles down with her on the sofa, placing the fish and chips in front of her and some sauces he found in his cupboards. She reaches for the vinegar and purrs so much over them, the chips turn into a sour mush. He shudders dramatically, and reaches for a bottle he believes to contain mayonnaise. As it turns out, it's custard.

Jumping from the sofa, he spits the vanilla-fish into a Kleenex, causing Rose to burst into a fit of giggles. Sticking out his tongue, he curls his lips up into a pout. "That's not funny," he mutters.

She only laughs louder. "Awww...you should have seen your wiggle – I'm not sure you're not the most talented dancer in this room."

"Rose Tyler," he asks with mock sternness. "Are you insulting my moves?" he huffs, flopping back down on the couch.

"How could I, if I haven't seen them?" she replies, toying with her hair and still grinning broadly. She shifts, pulls her legs under her on the sofa, and angles her body towards him. Her tongue darts out to moisten her lips.

"By all means," he replies, himself surprised how husky his voice sounds, "you'd be surprised."

"Now, would I?" There's some challenging quality to her tone, and she scoots closer to him on the couch. He can feel the heat reverberating from leg pressed against his trouser clad thigh, and heat rushes through his veins.

"Why are you doing all this for me?" she repeats her question from earlier, dropping the flirty attitude again, replacing it with sincere curiosity. "Look at you: a handsome knight in shining armour, living in a castle overlooking the entire city." The words are teasing, the sound of her voice isn't. "Am I some project? Some bird with broken wings you found by accident?"

Her lips are trembling, there are unshed tears in her eyes, her hands quiver and John is done resisting. The urge to lean over, to press his lips to her soft mouth overpowers him. "You're not some project," he whispers into the stillness of his flat.

She only sees the shiny surface of his life. This flat isn't his, isn't even furnished by him, and in only two weeks time, he'll change this accommodation for a tent somewhere in Gabun and won't even care. He's already itching to run from London, from social obligations, from friends like Jack who want his best and only tell him what to do and to settle the fuck finally down.

They don't know, won't ever know, what he's got to make up for. They don't know what happened all these years ago...

For once, his mind doesn't take him down a very dark and painful path, but lets him enjoy the moment and he's back, brushing his lips softly against his new companion's, steadily adding pressure until he can taste the salt and the vinegar on her. He thinks vinegar isn't so bad after all.

Her eyes are wide, surprised, a flush has crept over her face down to the hemline of her shirt."What's your name?" she demands to know.

"I'm the Doctor," he smirks, cupping her face and pulling her down for another light kiss. This time, she responds, opens her mouth and grants him entrance. He explores her leisurely, revelling in the feeling of her agile tongue teasing along his.

A needy whimper forms at the back of her throat and she arches into him, scooting closer. And oh! This is escalating quickly, it's a bad idea, and if he does this now, she might think it's only a one night stand, when he wants to keep her so badly.

Rational thought officially leaves the building, when she suddenly throws her long leg over his lap. Straddling him, she tangles her long fingers in his hair and scrapes his scalp lightly. Some noise between a purr and a growl escapes him and he thrusts his tongue into her mouth, mimicking what he intends to do to her elsewhere. Rose responds in kind, her breasts brush against his chest, press into him and the need to touch her becomes vital.

It suddenly occurs to John that he has hands, and he decides to put them to use. His fists, until now clenched at his side, relax and he settles his fingers along her spine. He's stroking her back, ghosting feather light touches along her spine, all above her shirt, as he angles his head to suck at her neck.

Rose has in the meantime discovered his earlobe, and the nibbling and sucking she does there is deemed illegal in at least five countries – probably more, but he'd be hard pressed to name them right now.

His tongue darts out to follow the line of her collarbone, and he knows he's doing a great job when Rose moans. Throwing her head back, she gives him better access. His hands have in the meantime reached the hemline of her shirt. Debating with himself, whether he wants to cup her bum or reach underneath the cloth and touch her bare skin, he settles on the latter option.

She shivers as he puts his hand on the small of her back. Pulling back reluctantly, he asks her softly, "Is this alright?"

"Yeah," she replies throatily.

"Good," he agrees before attacking her mouth again. His other hand finds his way to her front. She sucks in a breath and flexes her abdominal muscles when his somewhat chilly fingers settle on her stomach, and he snickers darkly. Moving at an achingly slow pace, he creeps upwards until he reaches her breasts. He can feel her hardened nipple through the thin, lacy fabric of her bra, and his already hard cock swells further.

Rose has begun to unbutton his shirt. His chest is half exposed to her. Soft, masculine hair covers him, and oh so hesitantly she rakes her nails through it. His heart is beating frantically under her touch and growling, he grabs her hands and flipping them both over, he traps her underneath his body with her hands above her head.

His cock is aching to be touched. He needs some friction to relieve a bit of the pressure that has been building between his legs since he set foot in the club. John grinds into her, hitting just the right angle to elicit a little cry from her. Smirking down at Rose, he repeats the action.

John releases her hands, and reaches for her shirt, pushing it over her head. Sitting back up, he pulls her back onto his lap and she squirms, twisting her pelvis in a figure eight motion that makes him gasp for air – if she does that again without warning, he might get off in his pants like some bloody teenager.

"Don't," he growls against her neck. Pushing the straps of her bra down, he frees her right breast. His clumsy fingers fail to unhook it, and he decides to shove the cup down. He rolls his tongue over a sensitive pink nipple, making her whimper and press closer to him.

He releases her soft flesh in favour of her mouth. With his hands curled possessively around her hips, he's able to slam her down on his lap, and grind her against his rock hard length. His fingers seem to develop a mind of their own, when they reach underneath her shorts and journey down to her centre. He finds her little, swollen nub and circles it lightly.

"You're dripping," he states, smirking lasciviously.

In response, she arches into his touch, desperate to get his fingers where she needs them most.

Never one to deny a lady, he slides into her hot, wet heat. She's pushing back, angling her body against his hand as he starts rubbing her sensitive clit with his calloused thumb. Her hands are all over his stomach, trailing down and ripping the remaining buttons on his shirt open. She's cupping him through his pants, and he hisses. Soon, he'll start babbling. Romana always hated his gob and more so, his dirty talk but he's unable to stop.

"You're so tight," he growls out. "Is this all for me? Do you want me to fuck you? Or do you want to get off on my hand?"

"Pants off," she gasps, unbuttoning him and sliding her hands into trousers. Her eyes widen.

"Impressed?" he asks cheekily. "It's all for you."

She doesn't answer, just rolls her eyes and moves down his pants. If John thought he likes her hand in his, it's nothing compared to her fingers encircling his cock, wiping the pre-cum from his tip. She starts a steady rhythm that has him tethering on the edge in almost no time.

In an attempt to distract her, he adds a second finger into her heat and curls them into a "come hither" motion. "I can't wait to feel you wrapped around my cock." He's stroking her inner walls, searching that rough spot he knows will make her lose control. "Want to feel this," he thrusts against said point, "with the tip of my cock, sliding in and out of you."

Rose is by now riding his hand, frantically pushing herself up and down. By the way her walls clench around his fingers, he can tell she's close. A desperate sob escapes her, when he pulls his hand away.

Making sure she's looking at him, he licks his fingers clean and her jaw slackens. However, he doesn't anticipate her next move.

Getting down on her knees, she takes him into her mouth without warning. Her throat tightens around him, the flat of her tongue wets him with her saliva and he has to pull her up before he comes right there.

"Condom," she pants, crawling back into his lap and kissing him deeply, letting him taste his own flavour.

Blessedly, Jack always insists to stack him up with sheaths whenever they meet and tends to shove ridiculous amounts into his jacket.

Getting up, he steps out of his pants and tosses his shirt into some corner. John sheaths his straining erection in the condom and pounces, pulling Rose's shorts and knickers down in one go, and divesting her of her bra entirely.

Positioning himself with one hand, he pulls her leg around his hip with the other, and pushes all the way in with one hard stroke, causing her to gasp.

He starts with long, deep thrusts, but soon picks up the pace when her breathing becomes more ragged. She's incredibly tight and he wishes he could feel her wetness coating his girth. Gritting his teeth, he pistons in and out of her, hitting her clit with his pelvic bone. Her hands are clutching his bum, pulling him all the way deeper inside her.

"Are you close?" he wants to know.

"God, yes," she moans in response.

"Say my name," he demands.

"Doc-tor," Rose cries as he hits her just right.

"Yes, that's it," he growls into her neck.

Grabbing the sofa's hand-rest for leverage, he penetrates her even deeper while picking up the pace. It doesn't take her long to shatter around him, shouting the name he told her in frantic ecstasy, and when her walls milk him for all it's worth, he follows with a strangled cry.

They both wince, when he pulls out to dispose the condom. When John returns, Rose is still lying on the sofa, her breathing still not back to normal. She looks sated and well-shagged. He can't help a proud grin. Cradling her into his arms, he takes her to his bedroom. She squeals in delight when he drops her onto the blankets.

"That escalated quickly," she states, giving him that tongue-touched smile that almost makes him hard again.

Scratching his neck he stares down at the woman in his bed. "I'm leaving, Rose. I'll only stay for two more weeks, and then I'll go back to Gabun," he blurts out.

"Oh," she breathes. Averting her eyes, she starts fidgeting with the fabric of his blankets, pulls it around her body to cover herself from his gaze. "I should leave now," she mumbles finally.

"What?" he squeaks. Sitting down on the bed, he takes her hand. "I don't want you to leave. I want you to come with me. Travel with me."

"What?" she asks startled, dropping the blanket and exposing her breasts to him

"Come with me," he repeats. "Is there anything holding you back here? Come with me," he urges, gazing earnestly at her to show he's serious.

"Just like that?" Rose inquires.

"Just like that," he nods solemnly.

"Why me? I'm a stripper, a girl stupid enough to get beaten up by her boyfriend and get robbed by him. I've got no A-levels. What on Earth could a doctor living in a palace like this want from me?" she presses.

Tilting his head, he studies her, tries to decide what might convince her to believe her mere presence is setting him on fire. "First of all, you're not stupid. It takes a lot of courage to escape an abusive relationship, and I've seen enough women crack under less. You're confident, and beautiful and probably the first person I don't want to leave after 5 minutes. It's just a fact – I want you around me, and I don't care about your A-levels." He shrugs, searches her face and just hopes.

The corners of her mouth twitch and something within brightens. Rose is like a light switched on. "By all means," she whispers huskily. "Care to convince me further?"

She doesn't have to ask twice, for John already pounces her.


	5. The Morning After

For the first time in months the Doctor doesn't wake in the middle of the night, unable to drift back to sleep.

Rose is still deep in slumber, breathing steadily. Forcing his eyes open, he drinks her in. She's curled on her side, facing away from him. As he scoots back, gingerly entangling his already numb arm from under her body, he's granted a magnificent view of her bare back. Rose is still gloriously naked from their nocturnal activities. The Doctor can make out the cusps of her shoulder-blades, the swell of her hips, the delicate line of her spine.

Unable to resist, he presses a soft kiss to the spot where her shoulders and neck meet. The movement of his lips is too light to wake her. Brushing his thumb over her stomach, he presses another kiss to her shoulder-blade. Rose stirs, but still doesn't wake. Encouraged, he moves his lips to the centre of her _dorsum. _He starts pressing hot, open-mouthed kisses to each and every little _vertebra_ in his wake, wondering if anatomy has always been that arousing.

Achingly slowly, he makes his way down her back, until he meets the recess above her stunning bum. Tugging the blanket down further, he allows his eyes to wander over the perfectly moulded, rosy globes.

Soon enough, looking isn't even remotely enough, and his hands join the party. He wants to sink his teeth in her flesh, grab her hips, and make her scream his name again – preferably in this high-pitched, keening tone she achieved last night.

The Doctor's tongue darts out to take a taste of her warm skin, and Rose finally seems to wake. A shiver runs down her spine, as she clumsily searches for the blanket. In response, John scoots closer and encircles her in his arms.

Twisting in his grasp, Rose faces him. Her hair is mussed and she looks adorably sleepy, while he's sure as hell beaming like an idiot. "Hello," John greets her blissfully, sensing his grin widen.

"Hello," Rose mumbles back, suppressing a yawn. Soon her mouth crinkles into a smile as she takes in his dishevelled form. "That's a nice way to wake up. But I'm cold."

"Want me to keep you warm?" he retorts, waggling his eyebrows suggestively.

Glancing down Rose notes, "You're already perfectly awake, aren't you?"

"Uhu," is John's admittedly not so eloquent reply as he dives for her mouth. Covering her body with his own, he kisses her softly, leisurely. He takes his time enjoying her pliant lips, the way her breasts feel under his muscular chest, the way she strokes his calves with her long legs.

Unhurriedly he makes his way down, kisses every inch of her body, playfully biting her hip-bone on his way to the apex between her thighs. His eyes seek out hers to gain her consent before he buries his tongue between her folds. Tapering his tongue, he thrusts into her hot, wet heat and sucks her little, glistening berry.

It doesn't take long until she's panting and writhing under his ministrations. Her hands are tangled in his hair, as she's begging and sobbing for him to make her come.

Removing his mouth from her clit, he gives her an impossibly filthy grin, already reaching for a condom on the bed-side drawer.

"God, you're so full of yourself," Rose pants out as he's wiping his mouth with the back of his hand.

Winking and clicking his tongue against his teeth he responds, "Not God." Burying himself to the hilt with one deep stroke, he whispers, "Now look who's full of me."

Rose opens her mouth to make a reply, but John rolls his hips again and her back arches off the bed. He starts with languid, almost lazy thrusts, taking her slowly higher and higher. In amazement he observes how her nipples harden, how her breasts bounce with each thrust until she gaps out his name and her walls clench around him, taking him over the edge.

Unwilling to get up, he collapses atop of her. John knows he can't stay like that, but he can't bring himself to leave her warmth just _yet. _Kissing her temple reverently he withdraws before fully softening. "I'll make you breakfast," he tells her gently, stepping into his boxers with wobbly legs.

"Still hungry?" Rose quips.

"Starving," he answers, letting his eyes rake over her again.

When Rose joins the Doctor in the kitchen, she's wearing one of his Henleys and a pair of white cotton knickers. It takes him every ounce of his willpower not to shove her against the counter and have her again.

"I have to work today," John announces apologetically. "Got to perform a surgery in about an hour. Make yourself at home in the meantime, and when I'm back, we'll get the rest of your belongings." Putting a piece of toast generously spread with jam in front of her, the notices her gob smacked expression. "What?" he asks. "I don't want you to run into Mr. Stone or Mitchell."

"That just sounded like you want me to move in with you," Rose stammers, setting her cup down.

"Yeah, well...I suppose it doesn't only sound like it." John is again tugging his ear and ruffling his hair nervously

"But...We don't even know each other. Shouldn't we," Rose says shrugging, "go on a few dates first?"

"What better way is there to get acquainted than living together?" John asks back. "I thought you agreed to travelling with me." He laughs nervously. Could it be Rose wasn't serious? Of course she wasn't! John could smack himself. What should this beautiful girl want from him? Sure now that she sees him in the light, she can't get away fast enough.

"I'd love to!" Rose throws in quickly. "Just thought...I mean...guys say a lot of stuff in the middle of the night," she whispers.

"Well, I'm not guys," he replies smugly. "Right oh!" Clapping his hands, he pulls Rose from her seat. He leads her into the living-room, where he removes a picture from the wall, revealing a safe. "Code is 38697," he explains, opening it and Rose gasps. The thing is stuffed with bank-notes from various countries. Rummaging around, he produces a roll of English pounds. "Whatever you need, just get it. Only promise me you'll stay away from your flat. Stay away from Jimmy, okay?" Worrying his bottom lip, he looks solicitously at Rose.

"Are you trying to buy me?" she gasps out appalled.

"What?" he squeaks. "No! It's just you're gonna live here now, aren't you? Which means my stuff is your stuff, and your stuff is in your flat, and your flat is not a safe place to go, soooo...ehm...just want to make sure you...Rose I know I'm rushing that, and I'm making that wrong – probably. But I know I want you to be there when I'm coming back from work, and you and me – that just feels right. Tell me, doesn't that feel right since you took my hand?" He's searching her face, rambling. John knows he's overwhelming her, yet he can't help it. He has never been the type of man to hesitate for long and he's in his mid-thirties, he already wasted so much time – he doesn't want to waste time he could spend with Rose.

"Okay," she nods, letting out a shuddering breath. "But I won't take money from ya. I can take care of myself."

"Right! Course you can. You're brilliant after all! Just...Are you still going to be here when I come back?" he asks anxiously.

"I will, promise," Rose responds, face breaking into a brilliant smile. Cupping his face in her hands, she strokes his sideburns. "You're so different," she muses.

"Good different, or bad different?" he wants to know.

"Definitely good," she responds, sticking the tip of her tongue out – unable to resist, he kisses her again.

"What's that?" Rose asks, her gaze following the movement of his hand when he places the bank-notes back in the safe. There's an exquisite golden chain sitting between the notes with a very rare stone attached to it – a deep-blue diamond. "I've never seen a stone that colour," she states curiously. "Is that glass?"

Taking it out laughing, John hands it over to her "It's not glass. It's a diamond, belonged to my mother," he explains, shoulders tensing.

"Such a pretty thing. You mum should wear it every day," Rose tells him, picking the chain up carefully.

"My mother would have liked your way of thinking," John answers softly. "Most people believe something like that too valuable to wear– my mother never cared. The stone was even on her neck the day she died… Luckily nobody assumed it's a real diamond."

"I'm so sorry, Doctor," Rose responds. Tears pricking in her eyes, she hands back the chain. "Would you tell me what happened?"

"Sorry, I'm a bit rushed right now. Mind if we talk about it later? I need to get dressed,"John answers absent-mindedly.

As John is walking into his en-suite, he notes the stone is still in his hands. Cursing, he places the chain on the night-stand, as he struggles getting into his brown pin-striped suit. The diamond always reminds of the worst day in his life, of his mother's lifeless body, his father's desperate screams.

But Rose is right – the chain is pretty and should be worn. The stone shouldn't rot away in a safe, but grace a woman's neck. It would certainly look pretty on Rose, he muses.

For once, John isn't happy going to work. He's nervous Rose might change her mind, vanish as long as he's in hospital. He never knows in advance how long a day at work might get. Sighing, he adjusts his tie.

Kissing Rose one last time, John starts his day.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Rose isn't sure how to feel. Truth is, she wants to trust him, yet she has doubts. The Doctor just took her hand, whisked her away, wants her to move in, to travel with him – yet she doesn't even know his name. Is he only playing with her?

The rational part of her mind tells her to be careful. It only happens in fairy-tales that one meets a man who is so certain of his feelings, so determined to be with a woman – and so awfully quickly!

The less rational part of her feels the same way. Being with the Doctor is wonderful. She wants to be around him, to be protected by him and take care of him in return. His mere presence soothes her, the way he treats her makes her feel cherished, special...

The sound of the bell rips Rose from her musings. Smiling, she heads for the door, sure the Doctor must have forgotten something.

On the other side of the door stands a beautiful, curly-haired woman oozing an aura of self-confidence. She's clad in an expensive looking trench-coat, sporting break-neck patent leather heels, and holding a beautiful Louis Vuitton bag in her hand. Squeaking, Rose reaches for her bathrobe.

"Is my husband here?" the green-eyed lady asks, stepping over the threshold.

"Husband?" Rose stammers in response.

"Yes, husband," the woman retorts. "Tall, slim, great brown hair, brown eyes. Has a predilection for pin-striped and velvet suits, goes by the nickname _the_ _Doctor_." She arches an eyebrow.

All kinds of emotions break in over the young blonde. She's feeling equally stupid, naïve, betrayed and dirty. The blood drains from her face.

"I...I...didn't know he's married," she finally blurts out.

"Of course you didn't," the woman waves her off. "I'm River. River Song," she introduces herself. "My Doctor does that," she shrugs.

Feeling like the air has been knocked out from her lungs, Rose only gapes at her.

"Me and him," River starts to elaborate, "have a very open relationship. I'm an archaeologist, he's working for Doctor's Without Borders. We spend very little time together." Eyeing the trembling, young woman, River gives her a pitying smirk. "I'm sorry, sweetie. He's such a wonderful man, makes everyone around him feel so very special. Did he invite you to travel with him?"

Rose can't muster more than a weak nod. "I'll get dressed," she echoes the Doctor's words from earlier.

River smiles to herself as the pretty blonde runs as fast from the flat as she can. Her Doctor might not _yet_ be her faithful husband, but she's a patient and besetting woman, confident that he'll realize the depth of her feelings for him at some point.

Wandering through the flat, River starts to examine the Doctor's belongings. When she finally walks into his bedroom, eyes settling on the gorgeous chain, she squeals in delight. Her Doctor just makes the most beautiful presents.


	6. Doubt

_I'm sorry this took me so long! I was in a bad state recently which kept me from writing. As I not wanted to make you wait much longer, I didn't send this chapter to the amazing Leftennant for beta. If the next bit doesn't take me this long again, I'll beg her to help me again - until then apologies for my mistakes!_

_P.S.: River will show up in the next chapter and finally get a longer scene._

John can't wait for the day to be over and to finally get home. He's only half-heartedly invested in his medical journal, entirely lacking his usual enthusiasm for newly discovered bacteria or his health records.

Sitting at his desk and pulling out his hair, John debates with himself tossing the paper work into the nearest trash bin. He's got three more folders to sign, two patients waiting and a meeting with his banker in an hour. The Doctor plans on moving money from his private funds to projects for the education of children, awareness training concerning hygiene and for building a water pipeline through a village he came across a few weeks ago.

Maggie Gardner, his lawyer, won't be pleased with his actions. According to her every shift of money is a complicated legal process, something delicate that takes time and patience – two assets John definitely lacks. Especially with Rose waiting at his flat, he wants to shorten matters as much as possible.

"Doctor!" Rory, one of the nurses rips him from his tasks. "Doctor Ferguson needs help with Mrs. Donague. She's got a fever again and he has no idea what's wrong."

"Coming!" John calls cheerfully in response, glad to take his eyes off the papers.

"Ferguson can't even tie his shoes without you," Jack grumbles as he walks up to the Doctor, two coffee-cups in his hands. "And here I hoped to spend my break with you."

"Ferguson is young," John replies. "At least he asks for help and doesn't kill my patients straight away," he adds, flashing Jack a bright grin.

"Woa! Aren't you in a good mood? The last time Ferguson called you in cause of a _fever _you lectured him about his choice to become a doctor. To be honest: I agree with you – he's a terrible physician."

"He's trying." John shrugs and puts on his white coat. "I'll take the coffee though." Snatching the cup from Jack's hand he trails down the hall, whistling "Good Old Fashioned Lover Boy" by "Queen" on the way.

Jack remains in the hall, frozen to the spot for several moments until he fist pumps the air. "You. Got. S.H.A.G.G.E.D!" he yells gleefully. "Oh my God! The hot blonde stripper got into your pants! Tell me everything! Was she loud? Who was on top? Did you kick her out right after you finished or did you let her stay for the night? Did she scribble her phone number on your mirror?"

"Hot blonde stripper?" Rory echoes incredulously. "The _Doctor _and a stripper?" he asks Jack, eyes going wide with curiosity.

"Her name is Rose," the Doctor growls over his shoulder. "And she's a beautiful human being. I'd appreciate it, if you could stop calling her _hot blonde stripper_."

"Rose, right," Jack repeats, nodding quickly. "You gonna see her again then?"

"Jup," the Doctors answers, clicking his tongue against his teeth for emphasis. His Adam's apple bobs, drawing Jack's eyes towards his neck.

"I can't believe she got to lick your throat," he moans with played jealousy.

"Mind your own business, Jack." Rolling his eyes, John greets his patient.

"My own business?" Jack hisses, lowering his voice for Mrs. Donague's sake. "She was my present – that makes it very well my business.

"Present?" Mrs. Donague, a short-sighted, elderly lady asks. "I never get presents. My oldest daughter always forgets my birthdays. What present did you get, doctor? And what for? "

"He got a stripper," Rory, the nurse explains.

"How lovely!" she chimes. "I always wanted to see the Chippendales – my hubbie, may his soul rest in peace, never let me. And now I'm blind like a mole," Mrs. Donague adds crestfallenly. "Did you take your present home?" she asks John, trying to waggle her eyebrows but ending up blinking.

"No comment," the Doctor deadpans. Turning around, he instructs Rory about her medication.

"Why not?" she asks. "If she let you take her home, you should keep her. My husband was a callboy – he knew a lot of strippers too."

"And your point is?" Jack wants to know.

"My point of course is, that these people are beautiful. Can have everyone they want – if they want _you, _you're special."

Jack laughs out loud. "You're husband was a callboy? Mrs. Donague, I thought you used to be an attorney."

"How do you think I met him?" She grins. "He always said I was the first woman _he_ had to pay."

"Well...she isn't exactly a stripper, but I intend to keep her," the Doctor admits cautiously. "I'll see you later, Mrs. Donague."

"Wait!" Jack calls after him. "What do you mean you want to keep her?"

The Doctor frowns. "I think my words were quite clear."

"So you're going on dates now? You intend to woo her?"

Groaning, John walks into his office and slams the door shut behind Jack.

"She moved in with me and I asked her to come with me to Africa."

Jack's jaw drops. "_Moved in with you_?" he echoes, gobsmacked. "You know her less than 24 hours. How on Earth can anyone move in with you over night?"

"You said I should get to know a woman. So I did. And how better getting to know someone than living together?" John shrugs as he flops down in his chair.

"Did she fuck your fuckin' brains out?" Jack blurts out. "That's just insane!"

"Honestly?" The Doctor arches an eyebrow. "I thought especially you wouldn't mind."

"Hell John! You know no one wants you to be happier than me, but a burnt down stripper? Your flat is full with rare art, there's a fortune in your safe...How can you know she doesn't empty your flat right now?!"

"I just took a leap of faith," John answers confidently. Getting up from his seat and walking over to Jack, he points his finger at him. "_You _wanted me to get a girl, to start living again. I woke up this morning happier than ever before."

"Of course I want you to be happy," Jack sighs, holding up his hands defensively. "If you were just a tiny bit gay, I'd stop fooling around and be your most loyal husband, John. I love you – that's why I'm so worried. You met River and she drugged you, now you meet this girl and you take her into your life within seconds. I don't want you to get hurt, and I know your parents' anniversary of death is coming soon. I'm not sure you're thinking straight."

"You're wrong, Jack," the Doctor whispers in response.

Only a few hours later, John calls Jack to tell him he had been right. He came home to a cold and empty flat, the sizzling presence of his gorgeous blonde long gone. With Jack's words still ringing in his ears, he checks the safe, which is still filled to the top. He lets out a relieved sigh, hoping Rose has maybe only gone for a walk, or despite his warnings, to get her things from her flat. In retrospect it amazes John how long it took him to realise his mother's necklace is gone.

"It's the moment you can tell me _I've told you so_," he sighs into his phone.

"I never would," Jack replies. "Want me to come over? Did you already call the police?"

"No police, Jack. She's got enough trouble with her abusive ex. She doesn't need me adding to it."

At that Jack nearly explodes. "She stole from you! That's not adding to her problems! What's wrong with you? You didn't even report River."

"Jack no!" the Doctor barks. "I need to be alone," he tells his best friend, hanging up.

Jack Harkness blinks away angry tears as he stares at the technical device in his hand. His best friend always stands up for others, dedicates his life to helping people and this should be his reward? The Captain knows exactly how much the memory of his mother means to John and he won't rest until he has his friend's memorabilia back. If John doesn't want to report Rose to the police, he sure as hell will.

"I want to report a theft!" Jack announces determinedly as he walks into the police station.

"Sit down and spill," a young, brown-haired man replies in a bored tone.

"A necklace has been stolen from my friend's flat. It's a rare blue diamond, worth more than a million. You should have no trouble tracking down something like this."

"So you're not the owner?" the detective asks.

"My friend's a tad bit odd – I'm here for his own good."

"You have an idea who the thief might be?"

"A woman called Rose Tyler," Jack replies.

"Really?" All of a sudden the detective seems to be more attentive. "Rose Tyler? Her flat has been robbed only yesterday. The girl certainly didn't waste any time on figuring out ways how to get new furniture." He chuckles cruelly.

"So you gonna take the case detective...?"

"Adam Mitchell – it's my pleasure." Getting up Mitchell shakes the Captain's hand.

As soon as the Captain is gone, he makes a call. "Jimmy my old friend!" he starts. "You'll never believe what I've just been told..."


	7. The Oncoming Storm

John can't believe his eyes when he leaves the hospital for his lunch break two days after the "Rose-incident".

Life has almost gone back to normal. The Doctor wakes up, goes to work, comes back into his flat. The loss of his mother's necklace isn't as bad as he thought it would be. John has never been a material person and he carries memories within his heart and not in some dusty safe.

He wrote the night with Rose and their morning off. Sure he enjoyed the feeling of belonging, the warm body beside him when he woke up, the presence of another human being at his side – yet it had been a mistake to think the young girl saw anything more in him than an opportunity to get some cash. The Doctor doesn't hold a grudge against her, she already endured so much in her short life and still there was a special glow about her, a fire her ex failed to extinguish.

John wished to protect her that night and still would, if she hadn't disappointed him that much.

It's like a punch to the gut when he sees her in his favourite coffee house. Rose looks pale and tired. Her eyes are black rimmed, her hair hangs down loosely – she must be completely exhausted. For a short moment John wonders why she's so worn down when she must have enough money to get rid of all her sorrows. The necklace she stole is at least worth a million pounds, maybe even more.

"We'll inform you, if we're in need of another employee," the shop manager tells her and Rose's shoulders slump even further.

"May I leave my application papers?" Rose asks him uncertainly.

"Yeah, yeah, put them on the counter," the man replies, already retreating to his office.

She sighs heavily as she turns around. It's almost comical when she nearly bumps into him in the process. The whole situation reminds the Doctor of their first encounter. He expects her to run from him, to be ashamed about her behaviour but she does none of that. Instead Rose nods curtly and walks towards the exit as if nothing had ever happened between the two of them.

That's the moment John feels his temper flare. "Already forgotten me?" he yells after her.

She stops, squares her shoulders and takes in a deep breath. "No," she responds firmly. "But I'm trying to," Rose adds and walks on.

John clenches his jaw. He doesn't know what he did to deserve this. He took her into his home, protected her and she thanks him by stealing and punishing him with ignorance?

"You do this often then? Take what you can get and carry on?" His tone is harsh, icy even.

Rose's eyes narrow slightly as she looks him up and down with obvious antipathy. "Not as often as you obviously," she responds briskly.

"How dare you?!" he snaps back. It has been John's first time ever to sleep with someone he just met, the first time in ages he dared letting his armour fall.

"You forgot to mention your wife!" Rose growls furiously as she pushes swiftly past him. "Is that why you refused to tell me your name? Or is it some ego-trip? Tell you what: your not some mysterious romance hero!"

The Doctor is being left behind as a sputtering mess. What on Earth has Romana to do with all this? He's divorced for over six years now, hasn't even heard from her in months. How does Rose know about her? And should she really think he's a blushing virgin of thirty-six?

Shaking his head he runs after her. Grabbing her wrist, he spins Rose around, forces her to face him. "You sly little hussy," the Doctor spats, not believing he actually calls her these names. Yet anger overpowers him and for once he doesn't hold back on his feelings. That girl seems to bring out the best and worst in him. "Did you really think there weren't women before you? There were and there will be! You're just some thievish, greedy minx and you should be grateful I didn't report you to the police!"

Rose's eyes widen in obvious fear, but she stands her ground. Turning her arm in a well practised move, she frees herself. Suppressing her evident desire to slap the Doctor right across his face, the young blonde lowers her voice. "Let me go or I swear, I'll start yelling for help."

Swallowing, John takes a step back. "I hope you'll be happy," he says in a mute voice.

Only a few minutes later he's back at the hospital. The Doctor hopes a good cuppa will help calm his heart-rate down. He's ashamed of himself, of his outburst, his harsh words. John always believed to be better than this – obviously he was wrong. By all means shouldn't he be superior over some Jimmy Stone? What did he just do? He grabbed her wrist, berated her...

John's cheeks heat up and he has to splash some ice cold water into his face to regain his composure. Taking a deep breath he leaves the loo and heads for his office. There's no way performing a surgery if he's that agitated.

When John opens the door to his room, he freezes on the doorstep.

"Hello sweetie," is written all over his white walls. Notes with these two words are scattered across the floor. The papers seem to be everywhere. Each and every one of them has a pair of lips imprinted and on top of that they are all scented. John's head starts spinning from the olfactory assault.

Collecting the papers, he makes his way towards his desk where the figure of an astronaut is sitting proudly and holding an envelope in his hands.

Trepidation tightens his throat as his shaky fingers open the mailer. A photo sails merrily to the floor and the Doctor bends down to pick it up. He throws it away as if he'd just burnt himself.

River Song has sent him a picture of herself. A picture on which she's very, _very _naked. She's lying on a settee on the pic, her right arm is draped across her face, hiding one half of her face from view. The decency of the gesture is in harsh contrast to the promiscuity of the shot.

"Jack!" he croaks out in a high pitched voice. "Jaaaaaaaaaack!" he yells loud enough for his friend to hear him.

Mere moments later the Captain storms into the room, ready to take down everything that might threaten the Doctor.

"What the fuck?!" he sputters disbelievingly as he takes in the smeared wall.

"Look," John orders him weakly, pointing at the picture.

Picking it up, a filthy grin spreads across the Captain's face. "Johnny boy! She made the Titanic pose for ya! Oh that chick is gorgeous! You never told me how sexy she is. And am I seeing right? She even organised herself a blue diamond necklace," he points out, squinting closely at the picture.

"What?!" John squeaks. Pushing past Jack, he takes a better look at the offending piece. "Isn't that...?" he starts. Eyes going wide he slaps his hand across his mouth. "All the things I said to Rose..." he whispers.

Beside him the Captain has gone unusually quiet and pale. "Damn! I already reported her to detective Mitchell. Johnny, I need to take this pic to the police," the Captain informs his friend.


End file.
